


Night of the Crescent Moon

by germankitty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Human Sacrifice (mentioned), M/M, Masturbation, Pagan Festivals, Pagan Gods, Paganism, Post-Hogwarts, Ritual Sex, Top Draco Malfoy, made-up ritual, ritual murder (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germankitty/pseuds/germankitty
Summary: There's been a series of seemingly unrelated, increasingly gruesome murders in the Muggle world – or so it appears at first. When evidence suggests Auror Potter is targeted as the next victim come Beltane, he needs someone versed in the Old Ways, someone who knows ritual magic, to help prevent that from happening. He needs a pureblood like Draco Malfoy.





	Night of the Crescent Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazyparakiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/gifts).



> Here there be time jumps (back and forth from backstory on one day to current events on another, only a few days separating both, mainly to avoid long passages of exposition). In parts inspired by the writings of Katherine Kurtz (namely, _The Adept Book Two: The Lodge of the Lynx_ , co-authored with Deborah Turner Harris). I've also played merry mix'n'match with several faiths/esoteric traditions (no disrespect intended!) and my own ideas, cherry-picking those elements I needed. If the result would cause a minor apocalypse when done in real life, blame it on my ignorance (and I'd be terribly sorry, of course. :P). Top!Draco, implied switching (off-screen; you'll miss it if you squint).
> 
> **Author's Note:** Dear crazyparakiss, I went with your prompt of "ritual sex". Nothing kinky (um, sorry?) happens, just sex _surrounded_ by ritual; I hope it suits! A million thanks and a year's supply of chocolate frogs to mod Twistedm for her patience, forbearance and the extension(s) – and as usual, to my fantastic cheerleader and long-suffering Beta, Candamira. I owe you buckets of coffee, hon! 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.

**Night of the Crescent Moon**

_Saturday, April 30, 2011: Twilight_

Everything was ready. Taking a deep breath, Harry took off his clothes, set his glasses on the nightstand and went into the en-suite bath of his hotel room, completely naked. Several fat white candles gave off just enough light so he wouldn't stumble or bump into things. Already, the air was redolent with the scent of various herbs that had been added to his bathwater. He sniffed once or twice, trying to identify them. Sage, chamomile, cinnamon, lavender, rosemary, hyssop … all chosen for their purifying properties. As he'd been told, he stepped into the shower first, thoroughly washing his body and hair with all-natural products. Once he was done, he patted himself dry with a raw linen towel, shaved and brushed his teeth, then lowered himself into the steaming tub. He winced a little at the heat; the water was at exact body temperature, but once he was fully immersed up to his neck, it wasn't too bad. Leaning back against the rim, he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind.

As the herb-infused water relaxed his body, he remembered instead what had led him to this point.

 

**:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

 

_Monday, April 18, 2011: Morning_

"The Scotland Yard Liaison officer is here, Auror Potter."

Harry looked up from the file he was working on and smiled as his secretary stuck her head through the door of his office. "Thanks, Morag. See him in, please? And ask the elves to prepare a tea tray for us, if you would?"

"Right away," she promised, opening the door to let his visitor in. "Deputy Head Auror Potter, Detective Chief Inspector Addington to see you," she announced formally. A forty-something man wearing the crisp uniform of London's Metropolitan Police and carrying a sleek leather briefcase passed her, politely nodding his thanks.

"Good morning, Harry."

Harry stood to welcome the man and shook hands in greeting. "Hello, Conrad. Good to see you."

"Same here."

Addington took the seat Harry gestured him to while Harry went back to his desk chair. They exchanged a few general pleasantries until Morag brought in the tea tray Harry had requested, in deference to their Muggle visitor. A breakfast muffin with bacon and cheese later, Addington sat back with his second cup of tea and sighed.

"That sounds kind of ominous," Harry commented. He finished his own drink, pushed his mug aside and leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk. "What brings you here, Conrad?"

Addington gave him a half-hearted glower. "Can't I just look in on a valued colleague of a morning?"

"Sure, but if this were a purely social visit, you'd have come to my house on Saturday, not my office on Monday." Harry grinned. "Basic deduction, Inspector."

Addington conceded the point with a nod. "Of course." He picked up his briefcase, set it on Harry's desk and fiddled with the combination lock for a minute. Done, he lifted the lid and took out a manila folder.

"We may or may not have a serial killer on the loose. And we have reason to suspect he's targeting you."

  

**:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

_Saturday, April 30, 2011: Dusk_

Hermione rapped softly against the bathroom door.

"It's time, Harry."

The water was no longer steaming. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes and sat up. He'd been told to visualise that the herbs and water had rinsed all the negativity and impurities from his body; he couldn't tell whether he'd managed that, but he _did_ feel calmer and more settled and was rather loathe to leave the comfort of the warm tub.

Harry went to stand in front of the radiator; despite the room's temperature being quite high, he welcomed the added warmth as he was supposed to let the water evaporate naturally. The herbs' blended aroma was clinging to his skin and hair, unusual but not unpleasant.

Once he was dry, he ran a comb through his hair and left the bathroom. Hermione was standing with her back towards him, looking out the window.

"Get dressed, please."

Harry went over to the bed and put on his boxers, then slipped into the floor-length robe made of soft, unbleached linen draped across the mattress. As soon as the rustle of cloth had faded away, Hermione turned and came to him, wrapping a red cord around his waist, more cincture than belt, and adjusted the robe's hood just so. She clearly wanted to speak, but Harry shook his head no – everything had been said that needed to be and his decision made, for good or ill. She sighed, stepped back and gestured towards the door.

"Let's go, then."

Mouth dry, Harry nodded and followed her into the hallway, sock-less feet already getting cold in his canvas deck shoes. As they walked from the house to the car she'd rented - Apparition would have been faster, but they had decided that a Muggle method of transportation was less likely to be detected or traced by wizards - Harry fought down his nerves. If tonight's plans went awry, his world would once more be in great danger.

And he might die.

 

**:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

 

_Monday, April 18, 2011: Midmorning_

Harry was skimming through the evidence and perusing the pictures to go with it while listening to Addington's report. When the DCI wound down, he looked up.

"I don't get it," he said. "There's no shared physical characteristics, occupation, hobbies, or location among the victims … they didn't even die by the same method. Why would you think it's the work of a serial killer?"

Addington shrugged. "We didn't see it at first, either," he admitted. "It took an Assistant Medical Examiner with the Avon and Somerset Constabulary in Bristol to make the connection."

Harry consulted the list of victims again. "2009, August 1: male, 53, extreme blood loss. November 1: female, 25, blunt-force trauma. 2010, February 1: female, 62, drowned. April 7: male, 36, extreme blood loss. May 1: male, 71, blunt-force trauma. June 21: female, 48, strangulation. August 1: female, 47, drowned. September 21: male, 2, blunt-force trauma. November 1: male, 14, strangulation. December 21: male, 19, extreme blood loss – Conrad, except for the victims who've been choked, all of the other deaths could have been accidental!"

"Except they weren't. The forensics are clear on that."

Harry sighed. "I'll take your word for it until I've had a chance to read the reports in detail. Still …" He looked through the list again. "l'll grant you that it's a bit strange to have only four different causes of death for ten victims and six out of the ten were killed on the first of a month, but dammit, somebody's getting murdered in Britain almost every day!" He briefly wondered why the latest victims had all been children or teenagers but lost the thought over another, more puzzling concern.

"Besides, none of them were magical, so why come to us? For that matter, why do you think _I_ might be a target?"

Addington took another folder out of his briefcase. "There's one more victim," he said. "Killed on February 1. He was first struck in the head with a brick, then garroted, had his jugular cut and was finally thrown face-down into an ornamental fountain for good measure. Each injury or method would've been fatal on its own; taken together, the victim had no chance. At all."

Harry stared at the Inspector. "That's … rather excessive," he murmured. The instinct that had led him to be named Deputy Head Auror before he had even turned thirty was beginning to tingle. The look Addington gave him added to his sudden unease. "There's something else, isn't there."

"Unfortunately, yes," the DCI replied and took a large photograph out of the folder. Turning it around, he shoved it across the desk towards Harry. "Meet Henry Crocker, age twenty-nine."

The picture showed a young man of medium height, dressed casually in jeans and a flannel shirt, with shaggy dark hair and hazel eyes framed by horn-rimmed, granny-style glasses. At first glance, he looked quite average; like a tradesman or maybe a university student, wholly unremarkable except for a jagged birthmark on his forehead – a streak of purplish skin that at a fleeting glance might have been a scar.

Harry was too experienced an investigator not to notice the similarities between this stranger and himself. But he refused to become unsettled by a superficial resemblance. Then he read where Crocker had been murdered and his stomach clenched.

Claremont Square, London. Two streets over from Grimmauld Place.

 

     **:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

 

_Saturday, April 30, 2011: Dusk_

Draco entered the woods, looking for the ancient nemeton not too far from the old manor house in King's Nympton, North Devon. It had long been hidden by subtle wards; nobody who didn't know it existed would find it. There was still a hint of moisture in the air due to the afternoon's rain and the temperature was rather chilly. Too bad that it wasn't warmer; this had the potential to be quite unpleasant. However, that's what Weather Shields and good Warming Charms were invented for.

Once he stood deep among the canopy of budding trees, he opened his senses to his surroundings as he'd been taught as a child. Following the faint pull of old magic, he walked on until he found the right place – a small clearing within a grove of tall trees: Hawthorn and Holly, Alder and Willow, Blackthorn, Cedar and Oak. Standing for protection, renewal and strength, they also represented the Elements – Earth, Air, Fire and Water.

Only someone who knew what to look for would notice several slender, moss- and lichen-covered stones among the trees. Stelae rather than menhirs, they still stood upright and proud, marking the border of what once must've been a small henge. Time, nature and neglect had broken and changed them, but some remnant of their power still lingered. There had been some argument from Granger about Draco's choice of this particular sacred site; it was hardly the most potent, compared to others – Avebury Henge near his own home in Wiltshire, to name just one, had a far stronger tradition. But Harry's roots lay in the west of the British Isles: Evans was a Welsh name, the Potter-Peverell line had ancient ties to the erstwhile Kingdom of Wessex – and so did Godric Gryffindor. When he'd explained that whatever connection to the land remained in Harry's blood would be strengthened by this location and help their fight against the evil threatening Harry, she'd given in. Even the brightest witch of her age couldn't argue with geography. 

Nodding in satisfaction, Draco took out the supplies he'd brought. He cast a spell to form a ball of softly-glowing light, set it to hover above the clearing and began his preparations to keep Harry safe.

And nobody need know that by doing so he was also fulfilling his most secret wish.

 

**:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

_Monday, April 18, 2011: Lunchtime_

"That's all you have, Conrad? Honestly, it all sounds circumstantial to me," Harry said after he'd recovered from the mild shock over the most recent victim.

Addington suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Well … not quite all. Crocker's autopsy showed that his stomach contained burnt oat bannock cakes and wine laced with, er, mistletoe."

"Mistletoe?" Harry repeated, puzzled. "That's unusual."

"Quite. According to our experts, the leaves can lower blood pressure, but the berries can be toxic when ingested."

Trying to remember what he'd learned about the plant in Herbology and Potions, Harry frowned. "But only in high quantities, right?"

"Yes, and to be fair, there wasn't enough to add poisoning to cause of death; that's why it hadn't been flagged. Up till then, we were still treating it as singular cases. That Assistant M.E. I mentioned earlier remembered the mistletoe-laced wine from his own autopsy of victim #5, got curious and started a comparative search, only to discover that every single victim had the exact same stomach contents. The rest, as they say, is history."

The earlier tingle in Harry's gut mutated, started to churn in warning. He knew to pay attention when it did; if he hadn't in the past, he might not have survived the War. "You're right, that goes beyond mere coincidence," he thought aloud. "Makes a serial killer much more plausible. Bloody hell."

"Indeed." The two Law Enforcement officers shared a glance, each knowing exactly how the other felt.

Harry threw down the folder onto his desk in disgust. "But what's the significance? What about motive?"

The Inspector gave him a wintry grin. "We're still looking into that. Significance, though ... luckily for us, our Bristol autopsy chap is an archeology buff."

Harry blinked at the apparent _non sequitur_. "Huh? And that is relevant ... how?"

"Exactly how I reacted, too," Addington said, then leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "Harry ... have you ever heard about Pete Marsh ‒ a.k.a. Lindow Man?"

 

**:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

_Saturday, April 30, 2011: Sunset_

The last rays of the sun painted the sky in brilliant hues of pink and orange; once the glowing orb reached full nadir, Beltane would begin.

"Dream that lies within the earth, awaken now. Hope that sleeps, awaken now. The stars await as so do I. Grow true, grow strong, toward the sky," Draco recited as he dug a hole between the roots of a Hawthorn tree just about to flower.

The ground was rain-soaked and soft and thus easy to shift so he could place the wishbox he'd made right at the edge of the clearing. It was a Beltane tradition his mother had taught him when he was small. The cardboard box wasn't big, barely two handspans long and one handspan wide; he'd filled it with layers of soil between which he'd placed a piece of parchment and an iron key tied with braided blue and green ribbons. The latter symbolised the wish written on the parchment: safety, health and renewed strength for Harry. He'd also added a piece of Willow bark for protection and binding, an acorn to ward off lightning and half of a mix of rose petals and poppy seeds.

There were holes in the lid, too, so the seeds could sprout and grow more easily. Draco scattered the rest of the seeds and petals on top of the wishbox, then concentrated on his wish as he carefully tamped the earth he'd displaced back into the hole.

Some might call it sentimental; Draco didn't care. As the saying went, every little bit might help.

He would've liked to include a more personal wish – that Harry might come to consider him a friend, or possibly more, but hadn't dared; he wouldn't jeopardise his intent by being selfish.

Protecting Harry was paramount.

 

**:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

_Monday, April 18, 2011: Early afternoon_

As soon as DCI Addington had left, Harry pondered his options. If he was going to take this situation seriously – and all his instincts told him he'd better – he needed more information, and needed it _fast_.

Which meant Hermione. She was one of Minister Shacklebolt's legal advisors; criminal investigations weren't really her purview. However, she was still the best researcher Harry knew; no-one equalled her ability to retain and correlate a vast number of facts. Even seemingly nonsensical and obscure ones like those pertaining to the prehistoric corpse found in a Cheshire peat bog over a quarter of a century ago, he hoped. He floo-called her office.

She was at his door soon after. "Harry," she greeted him. "I'm supposed to meet the Spanish trade attaché in an hour; what's so urgent that you wanted to see me right away? "

"Hello to you too," he replied, running both hands through his hair as he sighed, thoroughly frustrated.

Hermione suppressed a giggle as the gesture made the dark strands look even messier. Her good humour vanished, though, as soon as she caught his expression. Harry may have learned to school his features in the years since Hogwarts, but she _knew_ the look in his eyes; it had never boded well.

"What's wrong?"

Harry grimaced. "Conrad Addington from Scotland Yard paid me a visit this morning. He thinks there's a serial killer on the loose." He tapped a finger on the file the Inspector had left him.

Hermione frowned. This wasn't uncommon; cooperation between magical and Muggle law enforcement was vastly improved these days, helped by Harry's familiarity with both worlds and the fact that his liaison, DCI Addington, just happened to be closely related to Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"A Muggle killing wizards, or the other way around?"

"We don't know yet. The evidence seems to point towards the latter, though."

"Death Eaters?" she asked sharply. While most of Voldemort's followers had been apprehended in the last decade, every now and then a lone holdout or other malcontent with blood-purist leanings would show up.

"Not this time, I don't think. The methods used to kill were wholly unmagical, which isn't really the way they operate," he grumbled. "But I won't completely rule it out, either. Yet."

"Okay," she said slowly. "Sad enough that we still have to deal with this idiocy even after fighting a war over it. But murder is a purely criminal investigation; usually you handle these things very well on your own. What's different this time that you need my help ‒ or is it from Legal? I'm really rather busy, but I _could_ lend you one of our interns ..."

"Well," he said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. He knew Hermione wasn't going to take this well. At all. "Conrad believes that I could be the killer's next target."

"WHAT!"

Harry winced. He was sure Hermione's shriek could've been heard all the way to the Atrium. "Um, yeah. Personally, I think it's hogwash, but since the last victim was killed near Grimmauld Place …"

Hermione forced herself to remain calm. Panicking would solve nothing and she dared not grab the file he was fiddling with, the way she wanted to. The brouhaha over Harry's Firebolt in Third Year had taught her that such an action wouldn't go over well with him. She also made a mental note to reschedule the meeting with the Spaniard as soon as she could write a memo and send the paper plane to her office.

"He's probably just overreacting," he added blithely.

"Harry." Hermione rolled her eyes at his oh-so-typical reaction – trying to dismiss any danger or threat to his person. "Give. Me. The. File. Please," she requested instead, letting him know by tone of voice alone that she saw through him, as usual. The flush staining his cheeks at being caught out was faintly satisfying despite her exasperation and instant worry.

He handed it over with a sheepish grin that turned wry when she all but snatched the folder out of his grasp and delved into the contents. Knowing that it wouldn't take her long to read everything, Harry went to the door and quietly asked his secretary to have one of the Ministry elves bring them some tea.

 

**:l:l:**

 

When Hermione finished reading, she was pleased to find a mug with her favourite Lady Grey in front of her, already doctored to her preference. Harry was vibrating with impatience, but she took a few moments to order her thoughts by sipping her tea first. While she was reasonably certain she appeared outwardly calm, inwardly she was quaking with fear for her best friend.

"Well? What do you think?" Harry asked. "Conrad's seeing things that aren't there, I'm sure. I mean, come on; just because this Crocker chap kind of looks a _little_ bit like me – and only if you squint, at that – and was killed near my house doesn't mean I'm next on the list!"

"Really." Hermione sat her cup down on the desk and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands on top of the file in her lap. It was better than wringing them in nervous agitation. Or Harry's neck, if he thought repeating himself would make the facts less ominous. Hoping he wasn't being deliberately obtuse, she said nothing more, just gave Harry a long, steady look.

He stared back, but for all the confidence he'd acquired over the last decade, he knew her too well not to realise that she disagreed strongly with his view.  "What are you getting at, Hermione?" he inquired at last.

She shook her head. "Harry, I think Inspector Addison's concerns are more than justified. I fear the threat to you is very real."

"Why? Just because this one bloke—"

"It's more than the latest victim," she interrupted. "Whoever is behind these murders is _obviously_ targetting you."

"Obvious how?"

Hermione took out the list of victims. "It can be argued that the first murders were somewhat random, probably determined by place and opportunity. When you consider the names and places of the last four, though ..."

Harry shrugged. "All male, the youngest of the lot and killed all over the country. What of it?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione read aloud. "Jamie Evers, age two. Blunt-force trauma to the head on a playground in Yeovil on September 21. Lawrence 'Larry' Buxley, age fourteen. Strangled on his way home from his aunt's house in Staines on Halloween. Hamid Khazaf, age nineteen. Bled out on the scene after sustaining a nicked artery in a knife fight on December 21 in Braemar." She tossed the folder back onto his desk. "Don't you see it? Harry, the killer is following the stations of your life!"

"How do you get that?" he demanded to know, nonplussed.

Hermione sent him one of her patented 'don't be stupid' looks, making him squirm just like she'd done at school. "A baby in the West Country. A teenage boy in Surrey. A young man in Scotland." She drew a deep breath. "Connect the dots, Harry. Jamie, Larry and Hamid ‒ whose name incidentally translates as 'the praised' and 'potter'? In fact, there are parallels to variations of your and your family's names with the other two as well. Then there are the locations. Somerset borders your home county, Devon. Staines is less than thirty kilometres from Little Whinging. And Braemar isn't just a village in the Highlands, but also a nearly thousand-year-old castle."

"Like Hogwarts," Harry whispered, getting it at last. "And now this Henry Crocker—"

"Which is actually a different version of your name," Hermione interjected. "Your given name may be just Harry, but you _know_ it's a diminutive of both Harold and Henry. And Crocker is an ancient word for 'potter'."

 Harry winced, finally forced to admit that Hermione was right, as always. "Fuck."

"Indeed," Hermione nodded grimly, letting the profanity slide. After all, it perfectly mirrored her own feelings. "Considering that the poor man was the same age as you, looked enough like you to make little difference and was killed near your house in a close facsimile of what was probably a human sacrifice … I'd say you definitely should start worrying. The sooner, the better."

Harry startled. "Wait a minute – what do you mean, human sacrifice?"

Hermione flicked her wand to reheat the teapot and refreshed both their cups. She drained half of hers before starting to speak. "There's some debate about the death of Lindow Man," she murmured, avoiding his eyes. "According to German and Celtic mythology mentioned in some Medieval accounts, it seems possible that he was ritually killed. Probable, even." She shook her head. "It's rather woolly and certainly not proof, but given that Beedle's _Tale of the Three Brothers_ turned out to be part of your family legacy … Harry, I won't disregard those accounts. Not when everything about this points towards a threat to you!"

"Yeah, well … whatever." Grateful for her concern yet uncomfortable at the reminder, Harry waved a dismissive hand. Now that he was beginning to wrap his mind around the reality of having his life threatened, his Auror training kicked in. "Legends and wild theories aside, let's concentrate on the facts – what do we actually _know_?"

Hermione ticked items off on her fingers. "There's a serial killer out there who uses four different murder methods. He times them to specific dates. During the last year, he's killed more frequently. Since September of last year, he's chosen victims that have a connection both to your biography and you as a person." She gave him a defiant look. "And his latest victim, a near doppelgänger of you, was possibly ritually killed or sacrificed."  

Harry gave her the stink-eye over her last point but didn't argue. Unfortunately, evidence rarely lied. "Hmph. So … what do you think I should do?"

She sighed and slumped in her seat. "Get help." Seeing she'd startled him, she explained. "Harry – as I said, you don't need _me_ to investigate the actual murders; you're perfectly capable of doing that yourself. Besides, a lot of the legwork has already been done by the police. But if there's really an esoteric component, you'll need someone who is familiar with ritual magic … which I'm not."

"But you're brilliant at research," Harry ventured, only to have Hermione shaking her head.

"I'm sorry. Looking at the dates it seems likely an attempt will be made on you on May Day; that's only twelve days from now. If wizarding records were digitalized, I might be able to find out what we need. As it stands, though, without a computer we have no chance to do it in time. Unless you want to put a whole team on it?"

"No." Harry's reaction was immediate and adamant. He could all too easily imagine the headlines if this story leaked to the Press … as it well might the more people knew.

Hermione had expected the answer. "Right, I didn't think you would. Moving on … there also is a difference between just gathering facts and having fully internalised all the connotations. As you should know. Just look at how clueless most wizards are about Muggle things – they often can't even get the clothes right, much less deal with electronics. Whereas you and I can blend in easily in both our worlds without having to think about it."

"I guess," he muttered. "But where would I even look for someone who's familiar with ritual magic?"

"The Department of Mysteries?"

"No. As in, _hell_ no," Harry said at once. Hermione nodded, understanding his reluctance. The Unspeakables had several times tried to persuade him to allow a thorough examination. In Harry's opinion, it was nothing but a thinly-disguised attempt to dissect his mind to learn more about the Horcrux he'd carried in his head for half his life. "Any other suggestions?"

It galled Hermione to say it, but she'd do more than swallow her pride for her best friend.

"Ask a Pureblood."

 

**:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

_Saturday, April 30, 2011: Nightfall_

Finished with his wishbox, Draco then went clockwise around the clearing, placing four large coloured candles at the quarter points: green at true North, yellow in the East, red at South and blue in the West, representing the elements and Guardians of Earth, Air, Fire and Water. For the first time he realised that the candles' colours corresponded to Hogwarts' Houses … and that even in this symbolism, Gryffindor and Slytherin stood opposite to each other.

It seemed fitting that they also created necessary balance.

Next, he cleaned a large, flat stone – possibly a remnant of what might have been an altar once. With moss and dirt gone, he saw that there were runes chiseled into the basalt, most too weathered to read. Except one – Algiz, the rune of protection. _Perfect._ He wavered briefly over where to place it; go with red or green, the traditional colours of Beltane? Or maybe yellow; given his flying prowess, Air certainly was a fitting element to associate with Harry.

No. Harry had always personified strength, energy, passion and courage, the attributes most closely related to Fire. Red it was.

Decision made, Draco placed a piece of parchment, quill and ink to inscribe the spell on the stone beside a silver bowl, a flask of water and a handful of crystals – natural citrine, heliotrope and clear quartz, all of which were helpful in magic worked under a waning crescent moon. Next came a silken bag of purified salt to cast the actual circle. Lastly, he laid down his athame.

The only other thing he'd brought within the circle was a small chest made of Hawthorn wood, again chosen for its protective properties. He smiled, remembering that thirteen years ago almost to the day, Harry had cast _Expelliarmus_ with _his_ Hawthorn wand and thus defeated Voldemort. Surely a good omen. They would store their clothes in the chest during the ritual; for now, it only held a blanket as well as mead and almond bread to end their day-long fast.

He also tucked a vial of lubricant near the top, having brewed it himself from virgin coconut oil mixed with a few drops each of lavender, bay laurel, marjoram and petitgrain essential oils, as befitted the waning moon. A frisson of excitement raced down his spine as he thought of what he hoped to be using it for soon.

Preparations done, Draco warded the clearing against rain and intruders, then set Warming Charms which would activate wandlessly once the circle was sealed. He undressed, wiped himself off with a cloth soaked earlier in his own purifying bathwater and donned his linen robe, tying it with a cord around his waist.

He settled next to his makeshift altar in a relaxed pose, using his Occlumency to clear his mind. They would start the ritual at midnight and end it in the small hours, after moonrise.

Only another hour until Harry arrived.

 

  **:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

_Monday, April 18, 2011: Evening_

"Why _Malfoy_?" Hermione wanted to know.

Harry was pacing up and down the length of the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, waiting for the man to come to the house.

"You suggested asking a pureblood," he said.

"Ron's a pureblood," she replied reasonably. "So are many of our friends. There’s also Mrs Tonks. Why would you pick Malfoy over any of them?"

He sighed and threw himself into an armchair. Kreacher popped in with a cut-glass decanter of elf-made wine and two matching glasses, poured and popped out again after receiving Harry's thanks. As always, Hermione marvelled at how a proper bond between a house elf and his master worked; there was no grovelling abasement, just quiet, competent anticipation of needs and respect for a service well performed.

Harry gazed into the ruby liquid, visibly contemplating his answer. He finally took a sip before meeting her eyes.

"Andromeda’s lost so much already, she’d freak if I told her I'm targetted by a serial killer. I can’t do that to her, _or_ Teddy. And the Weasleys may be purebloods, but I've never seen them perform _any_ rituals, except for a few harmless blessings at the holidays, births and such. You know Molly; she's violently against anything she considers 'dark'."

"Ritual magic isn't dark _per se_ , though," Hermione protested. "All magic is intent-based, it's just more so in ritual. And it's hardly illegal!"

"No – but it's also not talked about," he said. "You wouldn't believe how shifty a lot of people get when you even mention ritual magic around them. It's generally stronger than ordinary spells, so there's greater potential for abuse ... and they're right to be wary about it. But for Molly it's enough to know that Dumbledore was against it, therefore she is as well. She still thinks he hung the moon," Harry added with more than a touch of cynicism. He may have forgiven the Headmaster for the manipulations throughout half of his life, but he was no longer 'Dumbledore's man through and through'. Hermione could hardly blame him.

"Ron … he’s my best mate, but he’s also Molly’s son." He shrugged. "To be honest, I don’t think anyone we know is familiar enough with ritual magic to help.”

“You’re probably right,” Hermione sighed. “Except maybe Luna?”

Harry snorted. “I love her to bits, but I somehow doubt hanging radishes around my neck would do much good.”

"Oh, I don't know – you'd probably look great in Spectrespecs," Hermione teased, glad to coax a genuine smile from her friend.

"Urgh. I think I'll pass, ta ever so much."

They laughed, then toasted each other with their wine. A comfortable silence settled between them until Hermione resumed their conversation.

"You still haven't answered my original question, Harry," she said. "You know a lot of purebloods, both from school and at work. You could've chosen one of them – why _did_ you ask Malfoy?"

"That's what I'd like to know as well," a new voice came from the door. Startled, both looked up to see Malfoy saunter in, all sleek hair, pale skin and eyes and well-cut clothes. He let his cloak drop from his shoulders and Harry felt a moment's resentment that Kreacher was already there to catch it, a not-quite-fawning expression on his craggy face.

"Kreacher lives to serve the House of Black," the old elf murmured, bowing at Malfoy's back before popping back to some other part of the house, taking the cloak with him.

"Well, Potter?" Malfoy drawled. "Will I ever get an answer? You didn't give me much to go on when you owled me."

Harry rubbed his temples. Not quite two minutes in the git's presence, and he was already developing a headache.

"Apparently it was enough to bring you here," he muttered.

"Expediency," Malfoy said airily. "After all, it's not every day the Saviour asks one a favour." He smirked when Harry grimaced at the epithet, then ruined the effect by adding with surprising candour, "It'll do wonders for my still somewhat tarnished reputation. Besides, I'm curious. Why do you need me? And for what?"

Harry glared at Malfoy, feeling his temper rise, but a cough and speaking look from Hermione made him hold back a heated retort. "Take a seat, Malfoy," he grumbled, gesturing at another armchair. "This may take a while."

Malfoy gave him a mocking bow, did the same more reservedly to Hermione and sat, every movement showing an effortless elegance Harry had always envied. Not that he'd ever admit such a thing.

A third wineglass suddenly appeared next to the decanter, reminding Harry that it was his duty as host to offer his guest refreshments, no matter how obnoxious they were. He topped up his and Hermione's drinks, then held the decanter over the third glass and raised one questioning eyebrow. "Wine, Malfoy?"

"Yes, please," Malfoy replied politely. All three drank.

This time, the silence soon grew heavy as Harry did his best not to fidget, Malfoy affected boredom and Hermione leaned back, observing the two men. Privately, she thought that they couldn't appear more different. Malfoy was all cool, calm, collected restraint while Harry was casual, slightly scruffy after a long day at work and even now exuded barely-controlled energy. And yet, for the first time ever she didn't perceive them as polar opposites but as complementary to each other.

She wondered how she had never noticed it before. Harry and Malfoy were like two sides of a coin – Gryffindor and Slytherin, light and dark, hero and redeemed villain. Would all their lives have been different if they'd been able to see past their differences as boys, if Harry had taken the hand Malfoy had offered nearly twenty years ago? They'd never know.

It still seemed strange that Harry would ask Malfoy, of all people, for help.

With a sigh, Harry set down his glass. "Malfoy – before I can tell you what this is about, I need a vow on your magic that you won't discuss the information we're going to share with _anyone_ unless either Hermione or myself give you permission."

Malfoy sat up, his grey eyes sharp on Harry's face. "Are you asking me to do something illegal, Potter? Because if that's the case, I'll have to say no right away. I've worked too hard to rebuild my life to jeopardise everything – not even for you!"

"It's not illegal," Hermione interjected quietly. "Trust me, I've checked and double-checked the laws."

He accepted her statement with a nod and turned towards Harry. "Potter?"

Harry searched Malfoy's face. Finding whatever he was looking for, he leaned forward. "I've asked you here because of your family background," he started. When Malfoy flushed and instinctively touched his left forearm, Harry shook his head. "Not because of that," he murmured, choosing his next words with care. "The Malfoys and Blacks are big on tradition, right?"

Puzzled, Malfoy relaxed. "Yes, why?"

"I need someone who knows ritual magic," Harry said simply. "Hopefully to give me an explanation for something unusual that's crossed my desk this morning." And wasn't _that_ the understatement of the century! "It's not dark or anything. And as Hermione said, it's all perfectly legal."

The green eyes crinkled with an unexpected touch of humour. "Just slightly out there, possibly a touch crazy and potentially lethal. You know, the usual."

Malfoy strove not to show his surprise. He didn't intend to let on that he was secretly pleased Potter had come to _him_ instead of Longbottom or the Weasel. "Typically Gryffindor then," he commented dryly, adding with a touch of playful malice, “How _you_ ended up as Head of the Black family is a mystery.”

“Hey! Sirius was the Heir and my Godfather; he had every right to choose whomever he wished to succeed him!”    

"All those years in Azkaban must've addled his mind," Malfoy snarked. "It certainly didn’t do Aunt Bella any favours.” Harry instantly bristled with anger but subsided when he heard Malfoy murmur under his breath, “Mother used to like Cousin Sirius. She sometimes wishes I could have known him."

Harry tried to picture that meeting and failed. "He'd have hated you, most likely."

Malfoy sniffed. "Why? I'm perfectly likeable."

"Yeah, if you like pointy ponces with a stick up their arse."

"Better that than being an unkempt ruffian with no sense of decorum or style!"

Things rapidly went downhill from there. Hermione listened to their squabbling with growing irritation. Finally she had enough and jumped up. "Oh, for the love of—! Will you two ever grow up?" She glared both of them into silence. "Harry, stop behaving like you're still twelve. And you, Malfoy, are a guest in Harry's house; I suggest you act like one!"

"But Hermione—"

"No, Harry!"

"Granger, I—"

"Do shut up, Malfoy. Will you make the Vow, or not? If yes, let's get on with it; if not, feel free to leave at any time." She inhaled deeply, looking from one to the other as she wrestled down her temper.

Both men glowered sulkily, looking for all the world as if she’d just confiscated their broomsticks and banned them from Quidditch. She bit back a grin. "Well? What's it going to be?"

Malfoy hemmed and hawed a bit, but eventually agreed to the Vow. Finished, he slid his wand back into his sleeve and sat down again.

"Satisfied?"

Harry sighed. "Yes. And, erm, thanks, I guess."

Malfoy huffed. "Whatever. _Now_ will you tell me why I'm here?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and coughed. "Well … there might be a serial killer after me …"

 

**:l:l:**

 

It took about half an hour for Harry to share what they knew and the conclusions they'd drawn.

"Hermione and I simply don't know enough about ritual magic, if that's what it is," Harry finished, sitting back in relief. Rehashing everything hadn't been easy.

"Oh, it is, without a doubt," Malfoy said. He sounded surprisingly grim. "The murders were committed on the dates of the old Druidic festivals -- Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasadh and Samhain, on the first of February, May, August and November respectively. Then add those on the solstices, Mabon in September and last year’s Ostara, and it makes it a virtual certainty.” He gave a nod in Hermione’s direction. “I also concur with at least this last death being a ritual sacrifice. Else the killer wouldn't have given him the Threefold Death."

Hermione frowned. "I've come across that phrase in Celtic mythology before, but I don't exactly know what it means," she said. "I mean, it's obvious in the literal sense as it involved simultaneous wounding, drowning and strangulation – well, hanging, really – but …"

"It was a death given to heroes, kings and gods," Malfoy said. "The earliest record from the sixth century tells of St Columba pronouncing the sentence on Aedh the Black, a tribal king in the north of Ireland. Family lore has it that his descendants fled to Britain and eventually founded House Black."

"That's why it's called Most Ancient and Noble," Hermione breathed, wide-eyed. "I had no idea the history went that far back!"

Malfoy tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Not many families can boast of such a pedigree."

"But I'm no king or god," Harry protested.

"You can hardly deny being a hero."

Harry flushed. "Maybe I once was," he grudgingly conceded. "Not anymore, though, and not for a long time."

"There are a lot of people who'd argue that with you," Hermione said.

"Yeah, well, a lot of people can go fuck themselves!"

"Language, Harry," Hermione chided automatically, earning herself a glare which she returned in equal measure.

Malfoy choked back a snicker and cleared his throat; both turned to look at him. "Can we get back to the matter at hand?" he asked pointedly. "Because the problem isn't so much the Threefold Death as such, but the reason behind it."

"Motive, you mean?" Sliding back into Auror mode, Harry tapped a finger against his chin. "There doesn't seem to be one. If – and I still think it's a big if – Hermione's theory is right, the only reason the last four victims were chosen is because of a very loose connection to me."   

"You're thinking too much like an Auror," Malfoy said. "Much as it pains me to admit, I believe Granger is right. The killer started out small, escalating his methods until he could close in on you. Crocker probably was the final practice run. No, the question you should be asking is, what can be achieved by using you or your substitutes for a human sacrifice?"

"Maybe he just wants to put another notch on his wand, seeks bragging rights for doing what Tommy Riddle couldn't, doesn't like my hair or whatever?" Harry quipped. "Or, you know, just wants to see me dead because?"

"Don't make light of it, Potter," Malfoy warned. "Ritual murder always has a serious purpose. _Always_ ," he repeated, paused, then asked hesitantly, "Have you ever heard of a horcrux?"

Both Hermione and Harry blanched, then shuddered. "Yes," Harry replied, his voice cold and hard.

Malfoy's eyes flashed with sudden insight. "I … see." He drew a deep breath. "Well. Then you already know what kind of atrocity a human sacrifice can be used for in ritual. And if what I suspect is right, the reason for these killings could be even worse."

"W-worse than a horcrux?" Hermione stammered. "What? How?"

Malfoy looked grim. "Before Columba and Aedh, the Threefold Death was a way for the ancient Celts and Druids to honour their deities. Sometimes they would use it to petition them, even."

"Deities? As in, gods?" Hermione frowned. "Weren't they just personifications of natural phenomena that people couldn't otherwise explain because they lacked the necessary knowledge?"

"That's a very Muggle concept," Malfoy said, gesturing to stop Hermione's instinctive protest. "No, hear me out. Things are different with magic. Muggles believe some creatures belong only in legends and myths, yet _we_ know they are very real. Dragons, Goblins, centaurs, fairies … you've seen them; you know they exist. Some of them, like the Fae and High Elves, have chosen to withdraw completely from the human realm. And some, who most would call Elementals, were banned."

"Banned? By whom?"

"Merlin, among others."

Despite the serious situation, Harry had to smile when he saw Hermione twitch, her eyes automatically flicking in the direction of the library. It clearly cost her not to dive head-first into research. She ruefully smiled back.

"So you're saying the killer is trying to appeal to a deity?" she asked, getting back to the problem at hand.

"It seems possible," Malfoy replied.

"Do we have any idea which one?" Harry wondered. "Or would that be who?"

"I'll have to look up a few things, but everything seems to point towards a Celtic triad of deities – Taranis, Esus and Toutatis," Malfoy explained. "They all could be appealed to by elements of the Threefold Death, probably through an artefact of some kind, like a piece of jewellery or other ornament. If the sacrifice was accepted, they would unleash their elemental powers on whatever or whoever the petitioners wanted."

"What elemental powers?"

"I am less familiar with Esus and Toutatis, but I know that Taranis is also called 'the Thunderer'. So possibly a lightning strike or something similar."

"Oh my god," Hermione gasped. "Harry, there was a massive car pile-up on the M5 in Somerset, involving over thirty-four vehicles. It was all over the news; seven people died, over fifty were injured – and some eyewitness reports spoke of a massive fireball!"

Malfoy stiffened in his chair. "When was that?"

Hermione helplessly spread her hands. "I'd have to look up the exact date, but definitely after February 1."

"You think this could be related?" Harry asked, feeling sick.

Malfoy's face was even paler than usual. "Are you willing to risk that it wasn't?"

Harry swallowed, then slowly shook his head. "No. Not when it means more innocents will die."

Hermione was trembling now, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "What can we do?"

Faced with their courage and determination, Malfoy found his own.

"We perform a counter-ritual."

 

**:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

_Saturday, April 30, 2011: In the Still of the Night_

Harry lost himself in thought as they left Glastonbury. The quaint town was conveniently close to the King's Nympton nemeton and the inns were familiar enough with wizards visiting the Tor that casting wards on Harry's hotel room had not been remarked upon. The distance was less than seventy miles; traffic being low this late at night, it would take them only ninety minutes until they arrived. At first, he had chafed at the idea of a car ride, but knew he'd be climbing the walls if he had to sit out the time in his room, waiting for the right time to Apparate. Both Hermione and Malfoy had warned that being near the nemeton would be too dangerous before a protective circle and proper wards had been cast. He was grateful for Hermione's silence, though; only when she turned from the A361 onto the M5 motorway at Taunton did she address her companion.

"Are you okay?"

Harry actually thought about his answer, swallowing the automatic response of 'I'm fine' … because he wasn't, not really.

"As much as I can be, I suppose," he replied at last. "Considering there's some nutter out there who's murdered a dozen innocent people already, trying to kill me by invoking what we _think_ may be an Elemental spirit, I mean. Also, I'm about to perform ritual magic which hopefully, _maybe_ will stop him. Ritual magic involving _sex_.”

“Wait, a dozen?” she gasped.

“Uh-huh. Addington reported another victim last Sunday morning, killed the same way as Crocker. No idea where, but he was dumped next to the Ministry's visitor's entrance. Some tourists on their way from Charing Cross Station to early Easter Mass at St Martin-in-the-Fields found him. One hell of a job for the Obliviators.” He rubbed a hand across his face as he recalled the grisly sight. “Anyway, we don't even know if the ritual Draco has put together will work."

That was Hermione's greatest fear. "What if it doesn't?"

Harry shrugged. "Worst-case scenario, I'll be dead and this Elemental—"

"Taranis?"

"Yeah, him. It. Whatever. Anyway, he'll be unleashed on the people … the world. No telling what'll happen then. Me being the Master of Death is only going to make it that much worse."

She winced. "Is there even a best-case scenario?"

"Draco says if everything works perfectly, we'll have warded the land and me against evil intent. The bad guy or guys would be permanently neutralized one way or another," he sighed. "If we're only partially successful, though, theoretically I'll at least live past tomorrow and we'll have until June 21, maybe even August 1, to find whoever's behind this. Before someone else dies."

Hermione frowned at the very specific dates, then she remembered. "Oh, of course – the Summer Solstice and Lughnasadh. I'm still getting used to thinking in those terms."

It had surprised her to learn how much significance traditional wizarding families still assigned to the old major feast days of Lughnasadh, Samhain, Imbolc and Beltane, no matter which faith they actually followed. She berated herself for not having seen the parallels in the previous murders – each one had been committed on days marking what Malfoy had called the Wheel of the Year.

Her rather secular Muggle upbringing had balked at the idea that the seasons or other natural phenomena had influence over events until Malfoy had reminded her that the potency of plant-based potions was often determined by which season, time of day or phase of the moon the ingredients were harvested. As this was something Hermione had observed and verified for herself, she'd had to accept it as fact.

Not for the first time, she vowed to take a much closer look into the more obscure traditions of their world. As soon as Harry was safe.

The car was eating the miles westward, past the Blackmoor Hills towards Exmoor National Park. "What will the ritual be like?"

Harry shifted until he sat sideways, his shoulder wedged against the door. "Don't know, really. Draco's going to ward the area and cast a protective circle that nobody can enter once it's sealed. We'll then cast a Banishing Spell together." He hesitated briefly. "I'll have to give a few drops of my blood for that."

"I've read it might be necessary."

Harry smiled fleetingly. "Of course you have."

"It makes me rather queasy, " she confessed.

He raised an eyebrow. "You think _I_ like the idea? After what Pettigrew did with my blood after the Triwizard?"

"Of course not. To be honest, I was surprised you agreed to perform any blood magic at all."

Sighing, Harry looked out into the darkness. "I'm not wild about it, but Draco says it'll link the spell specifically to me and make the protective magic stronger. It's only a few drops, though, smeared on a piece of parchment which will be burned afterwards and the ashes buried. Nobody else can get at my blood – or through it at me."

"And you trust him on that?"

"Who, Draco? Yeah."

Hermione wanted very much to read the truth in Harry’s eyes – not using Legilimency, just like only a good friend could – but was momentarily distracted by the need to pass a mini-convoy of three low-loader trailers. Back in the proper lane, she mourned the lost opportunity.

"Harry?"

"Mm-hmm?" He was ostensibly concentrating on the road signs. "Junction 27 coming up," he told her, shifting position to sit properly facing forward once more.

"Thanks." She took the slip road back onto the A361, past Tiverton. "It's not far now – maybe another half hour to go."

"Oh. Good."

She smiled to herself when she noticed he was lightly bouncing his leg and repeatedly clenching his hands in his robe. It was a nervous habit he'd developed as early as their first year at Hogwarts, one that made an appearance before every Quidditch match, every major test … basically, whenever he had to wait for something important to begin.

She also knew better than to call Harry on it; he'd only get cross.

It was clear he wasn't in the mood for further conversation, so she drove on in silence until they reached the turnoff to King's Nympton. Soon, they would reach their destination, the woods behind the old manor hiding the nemeton Malfoy had chosen. Which reminded her …

"Say, I've been wondering," she said, deftly maneuvering the car through quiet country lanes and past darkened houses.

"Yeah?" So he had come out of his funk. Good. 

"You've been using Malfoy's first name for a few days now."

Harry snorted. "Hermione, I'm about to perform ritual magic with him tonight. It’s Beltane; chances are we may end up having sex together. Under the circumstances, don't you think it'd be kind of awkward to keep calling him Malfoy?"

"Point," she conceded. Then, "If you don't mind me asking … how do you feel about that? The sex part, I mean." Having done some quick research on Beltane customs, she knew the feast was most strongly associated with fertility rites and so hadn't really been surprised when Malfoy mentioned the possibility. Harry's reaction had been … unexpectedly subdued. For once, she’d been unable to tell what he thought.

He took his time finding an answer, finally settling on one word. "Weird."

She couldn't _not_ ask. "Because he's Malf—Draco, or because he's, um, another man?"

Harry actually chuckled. "Seriously, Hermione? After what Dean and Sean got up to in the dorm since fifth year, Ron, Neville and I pretty much lost whatever squeamishness we ever had about gay sex."

"Well, I know you're not prejudiced," she said. "But _you_ have never …" She stopped herself, not wanting to come across as prurient. Unfortunately, her innate inquisitiveness wouldn't be denied. She swallowed and asked in a carefully neutral voice, "… Or have you?"

"Been with a man? No," he admitted. "A couple of times I've been … curious, though."

_Or tempted?_ Hermione bit her tongue, glad Harry couldn't see the desire to learn more she was certain burned in her eyes.

"Well, at least you won't have to worry about him propositioning you for your fame or money," she commented lightly. Very much _not_ looking at her, Harry just huffed. "Some would say he's also quite fit," she added with a sly smile.  

"I guess – for a pointy, ferrety git," Harry muttered, trying to sound blasé. Yet Hermione heard a note in his voice that told her he wasn't. And she'd eat her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ if she hadn't once or twice caught a certain look in Ma- no, in _Draco's_ eyes while they were making tonight's arrangements that indicated he wasn't completely indifferent to Harry, either.

Somehow, that made her feel a lot better.

 

**:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

_Saturday, April 30/Sunday, May 1, 2011: Midnight_

Draco was ready.

So was the circle; he'd marked the circumference with purified salt, had dried the ground and spread the blanket in the centre, weighed at the corners with crystals. Parchment, ink and quill were waiting for Harry to write down what he wished to banish, as was the silver bowl to collect the ashes once they'd burnt the list.

He had even strewn a trail of honey mushrooms from the main path to the nemeton; their soft natural glow would lead Harry safely to him.

Already barefoot and naked underneath his robe, Draco shivered slightly in the chill, moisture-laden air as he waited next to the yellow candle. When the circle was sealed and his charms activated, they'd be warm enough.

He heard the rustling of leaves from Harry's soft footfall first and turned towards the sound. Moments later he stepped into the clearing, a pale silhouette against the dark trees. Draco inclined his head in greeting. "You may sense and experience things that you don't understand once we've entered the circle," he murmured. "I give you my word that I'll explain everything, but it is important not to interrupt the ritual. Can you trust me enough to hold your questions until after, when the time is right?"

Harry gazed back with solemn eyes, green to grey, weighing his response. Then he squared his shoulders. Trust he could give.

"Yes."

A small, pleased smile curved Draco's lips. "Thank you." He centred himself with a deep breath and began. "Let it be known that the Circle is about to be cast. All who enter the Circle may do so in perfect love and perfect trust," he intoned, walking forward until he stopped at the circle's centre.

Harry inhaled deeply and followed him through the small gap Draco had left in the ring of salt, giving the traditional response. "I come into the circle in perfect love and perfect trust."

Draco moved around him, completing the ring by pouring more salt, then slashed his athame once from right to left, closing the opening symbolically as well. Next, he cast _Incendio_ on the green candle and invoked the first Guardian. "Spirits of Earth, I call on you." Going clockwise to the other quarters in swift yet measured succession, he then called on the Spirits of Air, Fire and Water until all four candles were lit, their flames flickering and dancing as if in an unseen wind. Inside the circle, the atmosphere seemed to crackle with energy.

Standing with his arms spread wide, Draco invoked the Earth and the Sky, then waited until the energies he'd called settled into stillness and the candles burned with a steady, golden glow. "I thank you, Guardians all. Bless this Circle and keep us protected. No unwanted entities are welcome here. Only pure beings are invited into this space. The Circle is cast."

Harry chimed in to murmur the benediction. "Blessed be."

It had seemed slightly absurd when he'd first read the instructions Draco had given him, but it wasn't now. He couldn't have said what changed, yet something definitely _did_ ; a stillness descended on them that was more than the Warming Charms coming to life, went beyond the quiet of nighttime.

With surprise, almost a touch of wonder, Harry realized that his nerves had steadied. If someone were to ask him again how he felt, he would no longer say it was weird.

At this time, in this place, he'd answer, "I feel safe."

 

**:l:l:**

 

Draco led him to the rune-inscribed stone and handed him the writing utensils.

"Draw a triangle, pointing upwards. It stands for the Male; it represents Fire and its elements. Then write down the things you wish to banish inside of it," he instructed quietly. "Visualize each while you do so and imagine them gone from your life."

Harry nodded. It had been more difficult than expected to formulate his wishes but Hermione's suggestion, to condense what he wanted to just the most immediate things as well as leave out everything he could deal with himself if necessary, had helped.

"As the ink flows onto the parchment, so shall evil flow away from you."

Harry wrote. The lines of the triangle turned out a little wonky, which he ignored, concentrating instead on his list.

He wished that no more innocents were threatened or endangered. All his life, people had been hurt or killed because of him – from his parents' swift death by _Avada Kedavra_ to the gruesome killings of Henry Crocker and the other ten victims before him. It needed to stop. 

He wished people wouldn't use whatever powers they had irresponsibly, whether it was by word – Rita Skeeter came to mind – or by deed. Those like the Dursleys, who would mistreat a child just because they refused to see his need; people like Fudge who would rather do nothing out of fear than take action, or someone like Umbridge who misused their position to punish and torture. Even Dumbledore … he'd been so convinced of his own infallibility that he had turned a blind eye to injustice and misery as long as his grand plans for the 'Greater Good' weren't affected. No more.

He also wished to be rid of Evil that harmed or killed without cause, whether it be the thugs on the street he worked every day to catch, fanatical Death Eaters who believed anyone not like them wasn't worthy to live or the cold-blooded killer somewhere out there right now, homing in on Harry for some as-yet-unspecified purpose – especially if he really was dabbling with forces he couldn't hope to control. He wanted it _gone_. 

Feeling lightheaded and strangely dizzy from the intense images he'd called up while writing, Harry exhaled and laid down his quill. "I'm done."

"Good," Draco handed him the athame. "Prick your finger and let five drops of blood fall into the right corner, two into the left, and nine at the top." As Harry complied, Draco said, "Five stands for your full name; it is your Destiny number. Two stands for your day of birth; it is the number of your Life Path. And nine stands for your innermost being, for who and what you truly are. It is your Soul number."

Finished, Draco poured some water over Harry's hand and the athame, then cast a quick healing spell on the tiny wound.

"Now burn the parchment."

Harry ignited a corner of the parchment with a wand- and wordless _Incendio_. Within seconds, the sheet was smoldering. Harry dropped it into the silver bowl Draco held out. Both watched until it had completely turned into ashes.

"As the parchment turns to ash, so shall the evil shadowing your life."

Then Draco cut up a piece of sod with his athame, digging an opening the depth of the blade. Harry emptied the bowl into it and refilled the hole.

"As we bury the ashes, so shall evil be swallowed by the earth."

He replaced the sod, sprinkled a handful of water over it and smudged the edges. Come daylight, the spot would be nigh invisible.

Then they spoke in unison. "It is done. So mote it be."

 

   **:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

 

_Sunday, May 1, 2011: Beltane_

Harry was nervous.

Not overtly, in that he was shifting from foot to foot, wringing his hands, sweating or anything of the sort. But Draco knew him well enough to read the signs. Harry dry-swallowed; he was tense; his right hand clenched and un-clenched as if he were shifting his grip on his wand.

He also wouldn't meet his eyes.

That was the real tell. Harry James Potter backed down from no-one. He would stare anything and anyone right into their faces – whether it was an arrogant, spoilt little boy trying to be his friend and going about it all wrong, an unfair teacher holding a grudge and being mean about it, a sadistic Ministry toad bent on discrediting and torturing him, or a megalomaniac Dark Lord out for world domination who'd tried to kill him since he was a baby.

Although Draco had to admit that his favourite memory was when Harry had come face-to-face with a dragon. Watching through his Omnioculars, he'd seen the flash of terror in the green eyes, but it was washed away almost immediately by defiance, determination and an indomitable will to win.

That was the moment when Draco fell in love with Harry.

He hadn't realized it at the time; Draco had been too young and had a lot of growing up to do, but when he finally did it was bittersweet. They'd never been friends; how could he even hope they'd ever be lovers? So he had pretty much resigned himself to the idea that Harry wasn't for him. Which was okay, as long as Harry was safe and happy.

Yet now Harry's safety was being threatened. Only due to circumstance and a stroke of luck was Draco put into position to preserve it.

He'd all but jumped at the chance. Oh, he'd put up a good show of reluctance, but there was never any doubt that Draco would do his utmost to help. And if he managed to fulfill a secret, long-harboured fantasy and snatch a little bit of happiness for himself on the way … well, that was nobody's business but his own. He _was_ a Slytherin, after all.

And it was the Slytherin within who screeched in protest when Draco heard himself say, "We can stop here, if you want."

Harry's head jerked up. "What?"

Draco couldn't believe he was doing this, he didn't _want_ to be doing this, but … this was about Harry, not him.

"We've done the Banishment," he murmured. "The spell is complete."

"But … but you said it might not be strong enough!"

"It's as strong as it's likely to be." Draco shrugged. "We are in a sacred place, raised the proper wards and chose the best possible ritual which went without a hitch. Everything is as it should be."

Despite the reassurance, Harry still looked dubious. "What about the moon, though? When we planned this, you said something about the moon not being quite right."

Silently cursing Harry's memory, Draco looked aside. "For a regular Banishment, performing the ritual under a waning crescent moon is fine," he explained. "But if our suspicions are correct, that we're dealing with an elemental force like Taranis, it would have been best to have waited for the true Dark Moon. Which unfortunately isn't until two days from now."

Harry inhaled slowly. "So what does that mean, exactly?"

"We have bought time at the very least," Draco said. "The dates of the past murders show the summoner knows that calling on Elementals is safest for him only on certain dates, like Beltane. Therefor you should be safe until the next feast day – the Summer Solstice."

"That'd be June 21, right?" Harry asked.

"If he's in a hurry, yes. If he isn't, he'll wait until Lughnasadh on August 1."

"Isn't that a harvest festival?"

"Partly. More importantly, it is associated with death and rebirth; the date marks the beginning of summer's Light descending into the Darkness of winter." Draco swallowed, reluctant to continue. "It also involves a ritual sacrifice. Usually the slaughter of a bull, but …"

Harry was too astute not to see the implications.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he muttered, taking a few agitated steps before coming to a halt in front of Draco again.

"The sex magic. Tell me again what it'll do," he demanded.

"It will generate extra power," Draco said, trying to ignore the small surge of fresh hope in his heart. "After all, what is a better, more profound way to affirm life than an act of procreation?"

Harry's mouth twitched. "Procreation?" he inquired mildly.

"Uh, fertility, really," Draco mumbled, blushing. "Crops, livestock … often, a ritual joining on Beltane would help a previously childless couple to conceive."

A black eyebrow rose. "I hope you're not implying I'll be having your baby if we do this," Harry drawled. "No offense, but I'd rather take my chances with the Thunder-spirit."

"None taken. Besides, a lot of things can be done with magic, but making a man pregnant isn't one of them." Draco regretfully banished the image of a small child with messy, white-blond hair and large green eyes from his mind. That was one dream which was forever doomed to remain a mere fantasy.

"So … two men having ritual sex would work?" Harry asked factually.

"Yes. It's all about the energies – blending them, generating more than the caster usually has. That is not bound to the participants' gender, whether it's two or the same. You don't even necessarily have to have a partner," Draco replied with a tiny smile. 

Harry didn't smile back. Instead, he stared long and hard into Draco's eyes, who bore the scrutiny without flinching. At last, Harry briefly closed his eyes, blew out his breath and gave a tight nod.

"Okay."

"Uh, pardon?" Draco wasn't sure he'd heard right.

Apparently he had. "Let's do this," Harry said.

 

  **:l:l:**

 

They shed their robes, folded them into the Hawthorn chest and knelt naked on the blanket, facing each other. Harry sent Draco a questioning look as he set out the vial of oil.

"Lubricant," Draco explained. "Just in case."

Despite his earlier display of bravado, Harry gulped and blushed. He also kept his eyes strictly above Draco's collarbone.

"Don't worry, I'll not do anything you're not comfortable with," Draco murmured. "Just say the word and I'll stop. My promise on that."

"I know you won't," Harry replied hoarsely. "It's just …"

"Yes?" Draco prompted gently when Harry seemed lost for words.

"I don't even know where to start," Harry blurted, tension visible in every line of his body. "Or even what to do, exactly!"

Sitting back on his haunches, Draco considered his reply. "Forgive me for not asking before, but … you're not a virgin, are you?"

"I've been with a few women. Not with a man, though, if that's what you mean."

"It's not so different," Draco soothed him. "I have experience with both; will you trust me to guide you?"

"I don't have much choice, do I?" Harry grumbled.

"You always do," Draco replied. "As I said before, we can – and _will_ – stop at any time." 

"Meaning we'll have to get started first," Harry quipped, but relaxed somewhat. "Okay, show me."

Put on the spot like that, naturally all his expertise flew out the window. Draco's mind raced. How to start, indeed … For a few seconds, he gazed blindly at the smattering of dark hair surrounding Harry's nipples. It looked so different from his own pale, smooth skin … that was it. He smiled reassuringly.

"How about you take a good look at me first? Because that's what I want to do with you."

"Um, yeah, okay, I guess."

This was different from sharing a dorm or using communal showers. There, common courtesy had required _not_ looking; now he had leave to do just that. Harry slowly let his eyes sweep downward, from Draco's shoulders across his chest. He winced inwardly as he noticed the web of pink scars, remnants of the ill-considered _Sectumsempra_. He pushed the thought aside; apologies could wait. Draco's chest and abdomen showed lean muscles; his navel was tight, but what drew his eyes was the narrow trail of hair, golden-blond instead of platinum, leading down towards—

Harry felt his face flame. There, right between the slightly-spread thighs, dangled Draco's balls and cock. Rosier than his own skin, he could but stare as the shaft gradually filled and lengthened. _He_ was causing that? Just by looking?

"Draco, I—" he croaked, half intrigued and half embarrassed because his own body wasn't reacting at all. _Yet_ , a tiny voice whispered in his mind.

"It's okay, Harry," Draco murmured. "There's no rush. Take your time."

"A-are you r-reading my mind?"

"Just your body language. I know what this feels like."

"You do?"

Draco hummed. "I've been there myself once."

"Oh." Strangely reassured, Harry let his eyes grow bolder. The four candles didn't give a lot of light, but enough for him to decide that yes, he liked what he saw. Right on the heels of that came the thought that he wouldn't mind looking his fill of Draco in daylight. Or at least in a well-lit room. _Later,_ , that same tiny voice promised. Harry heartily agreed.

Minutes passed until Harry was finally comfortable enough to again meet Draco's eyes. He still wasn't hard, but his cock had started to fill and lengthen.

"So … how do we do this?" he asked, bracing himself as if he were about to go into battle.

Draco shook his head. This wouldn't do. Being nervous was understandable and acceptable, but they needed harmony, not strife. Draco hoped the solution he'd come up with would solve the problem.

"Why don't we … handle ourselves, so to speak?"

Harry gaped. "You mean … wank? _Together?_ "

"Yes. Remember, you need to focus on the intent of the spell to funnel the energy we're creating into it. It might be easier for you without being distracted by my hands on your body."

Harry sighed. "Oh, right. I almost forgot." That he was clearly disappointed rekindled Draco's hope for a second, more ... mutual ... attempt afterwards.

"No worries. Any kind of sexual activity will do as long as you don't lose sight of your goal. But as the best, strongest result will come from penetration, we can try something else later," he promised.

Harry gulped, but he _was_ a true Gryffindor. "We can?"

Draco made a valiant attempt at nonchalance. "Of course."

The green eyes started to sparkle with curiosity and a welcome hint of awakening lust. "Okay, I'm game. Wanking first, more later." He nodded with determination.

It was such a quintessentially _Harry_ thing to say and do, Draco couldn't help himself; he leaned forward and stole a quick kiss. Harry was startled, but didn't seem to mind. He even kissed back.

Before he lost himself in the taste of Harry, Draco leaned forward. "Let me show you."

He reached for Harry's shoulders; when he didn't flinch, he drew him up so that they both knelt opposite each other, knees slightly spread, almost, but not quite, touching. He then draped a hand around the Harry's neck and guided the dark head to rest against his own shoulder. His free hand wandered down the well-defined chest, past the flat stomach, stroking and petting until he reached Harry's slowly-filling cock. He caressed it with a feather touch, fondling the heavy balls and circled the crown with his fingers. Giving a gentle twist, he caught the first drop oozing from the tip and brushed it over the satiny skin. Draco gasped into the unruly dark hair as he felt Harry reciprocate – tentatively at first, but with greater certainty the longer it took. When they were both fully erect and breathing heavily, he reluctantly released the throbbing shaft.

Draco sat back on his haunches and watched Harry do the same. "Remember the spell," he instructed again, the rough timbre of his normally smooth voice raising goosebumps on Harry's skin.

"Now watch me."

He started to run his hands down his own body, pinching his nipples into hardness and outlining lean, defined muscles. Harry caught on quickly and began to copy Draco's moves. Eventually, they swayed closer again; close enough to sense each other's body heat as they avidly watched what their hands were doing – kneading heavy sacs and pumping straining cocks. They tried to draw it out but couldn't; the sight of the other pleasuring himself just as each was doing, the sound of their heavy breathing escalating into deep moans, was too much for either of them. Their fists closed harder around their pricks, stroking faster and faster until they couldn't stand it anymore. Muscles locked, hips snapped forward, and first one, then the other came into their own hands, shouting out their release into the night.

As the last spasm faded, Draco reached out again, only to be met halfway by Harry. Lips met in a hot, wet kiss. Trembling and out of breath, they separated just far enough to stare into each other's eyes.

A million questions hovered on the tip of his tongue, but Draco discarded them all for the one he _needed_ to ask. "Did you focus on the Banishment?"

Harry laughed giddily. "Barely; this was pretty intense. Watching you while we … whoa." His face shone with equal amounts of triumph and satisfaction. "But yeah, I did. Unless it was all my imagination, I even felt my magic surge when I … um … at the end. You know?"

"When you came?"

"Uh, yeah." Harry blushed despite their shared intimacy of just moments before. Draco valued his life too much to tell him he found the sudden display of shyness rather adorable. 

They shared a relieved grin. Then Draco performed a quick _Tergeo_ on himself whereas Harry Summoned his boxers and carefully patted his spent penis dry. He smiled sheepishly at Draco's raised eyebrow as he tossed the now-soiled underwear aside. "Sorry. I don't fancy having a wand pointed at my bits."

"And some very nice bits they are, too," Draco murmured, casting a quick Cushioning Charm as he lay down and pulled Harry half on top of him.

"Shut it, you." Harry meant to sound scathing, but ended with a jaw-cracking yawn instead. "Bloody hell."

"It _is_ rather late," Draco remarked. "Or early, depending how you look at it. Besides, the ritual took a lot of power; we'll probably sleep well into the morning."

Harry looked at him from under his lashes as he settled more comfortably against Draco. "What about later?"

For a moment, Draco was confused, but then he caught the pointed look at his crotch. "Oh! Later. Yes, of course." He smiled. "We'll get to that. But rest first."

Harry mumbled something unintelligible and burrowed into Draco's side, his head tucked firmly into the crook of Draco's neck. His eyes were already drifting close.

 

  **:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:l:**

 

 

_Sunday, May 1, 2011: Moonrise_

Far up north, in a remote area on the Isle of Skye, a coven of thirteen men gathered in a hidden room of Castle Ewan. To Muggles, it appeared as a hill formation that only _looked_ like a ruined castle – but much like Hogwarts, the Fairy Glen was quite different to wizards.

The leader, his identity hidden behind a hooded cloak and Distortion Spells, waited until the others had linked their arms and formed a ring around the plate-sized bronze wheel lying on a pedestal in the centre. It was the symbol sacred to Taranis, and he was certain that the last sacrifice, offered seven days ago on Ostara morning, had pleased the Thunderer enough to smite their enemy at last.

He began to chant in a harsh, sibilant language that charged the very air around them. Struggling to keep his voice at an even volume, the leader nevertheless increased the intensity.as he appealed to the Elemental.

"Come, mighty Taranis," he said hoarsely. "An it please thee, accept our homage and the offering we make to thee!"

From all around them, darkness rushed in, rumbling and spitting sparks as it coalesced into a ball of not-light that hovered ominously above the wheel. Some men flinched, others moaned in fright, but the circle held.

"Come, Master of Lightning! We have tilled the field; come and reap the reward that is thine due!"

The concentrated darkness roiled and churned, frayed the atmosphere until it seemed ready to tear apart like tissue paper or a spider's web. Every hair on every man's body stood up as they trembled before the primeval force.

Then the sinister sphere imploded with a thunderous crash and a bolt of lightning streaked up and outwards through the room's single window, speeding south.

The coven's leader allowed himself a grim, satisfied smile as they unlinked their arms, dispensing the circle. They'd done the work; Taranis had heard them and come.

By sunrise, Harry Potter, the man who had vanquished his Lord not once, but twice would be dead.

 

**:l:l:**

 

Inside their warded circle at the nemeton in King's Nympton, Draco woke Harry with a languid kiss.

Harry smiled into the warm mouth ravishing his own. They didn't talk, content for the moment to run their hands over chests, arms and backs, tweaking nipples into hard little peaks, occasionally straying to tight buttocks and muscular legs. Desire simmered just below the surface; as if to provide proof, Draco pressed his straining cock against Harry's abdomen. He gasped with pleasure when Harry's eager shaft nudged his own balls from below.

Harry chuckled throatily and drew the blond head down to his. Tracing the firm lips with the tip of his tongue, he rolled over on his back so that Draco lay on top of him, then trailed one hand down Draco's spinal ridge until it touched the rounded swell of his arse. Both writhed and bucked until Draco's cock came to rest in the crease of Harry's thigh. Harry moaned and slipped his tongue back inside the warm mouth to capture Draco's with his own. Licking and sucking, lust built up gradually until they had to part for air. Draco lifted his head and looked at Harry with hungry eyes.

"You look like you want to eat me alive," Harry murmured against Draco's cheek, his breath a caress all its own.

"Another time, maybe." Draco fought the urge to hump against a sharp hipbone. "I want you."

Ignoring the swarm of pixies fluttering in his stomach at the bold statement, Harry nipped at Draco's chin. "Good. I want you, too."

"I … I want to be inside you," Draco rasped, nearly undone by the heat glowing in the emerald depths of Harry's eyes.

Harry shuddered once, then deliberately relaxed every muscle as he lay back against the blanket. "Take me then," he said simply and let his legs fall open.

Draco's breath hitched. "Are you sure?" he asked even as he fumbled for the vial of lubricant.

Harry cupped Draco's cheek. "As sure as I can be," he whispered.

"There may be some discomfort," Draco warned, heart hammering in his chest as he tried to pry off the cork with his thumb. "I'll be careful, but—"

 "Draco," Harry interrupted him, "it's okay. I know you will. I trust you not to hurt me."

Such a declaration could only be answered in one way. With a low growl of suddenly overwhelming arousal, Draco attacked Harry's body with hands, lips, teeth and tongue, starting at the sensuous mouth.

When Harry was a trembling mass of desire in his arms, he poured some of the oil on his fingers, coating them thoroughly. Then he worked them between Harry's buttocks, easily finding the hidden opening and sliding first one, then two fingers into the tight channel. Harry winced once at the burn and strange sensation of being stretched open. Draco waited until he'd adjusted, then began to finger-fuck Harry until he was moaning continually, his head thrashing from side to side. Then he stopped.

With a disappointed whimper, Harry sank back down, dragging his heavy eyelids open.

"Draco, _please_ ...!" he groaned.

"Soon, I promise," Draco murmured back. "Just a little bit more ..."

He scissored his fingers, searching for the knot of tissue he knew would bring Harry the most pleasure. _There._

Harry arched up and came with a shout that was quickly muffled by a deep kiss. He crumbled into a quivering heap, completely spent.

The tight ring of muscle was exquisitely loose now. Draco knew that he'd be able to slide inside easily. Kneeling between the still-trembling thighs, he lifted them up towards his waist, scooting forward until Harry's arse rested directly before Draco's throbbing cock. Working in another dollop of lubricant for good measure, he centered himself against the entrance to Harry's body and pressed forward.

Neither heard the sound of approaching thunder.

Harry tensed at the initial intrusion, but thrust back instinctively. Now half-impaled by Draco's cock, he grinned with burgeoning triumph. "Go on," he panted. "No point in stopping now."

"Smartarse," Draco growled even as he started slowly pumping back and forth, sinking deeper into Harry with every thrust.

"I'm pretty sure my arse will be smarting in the morning," Harry half-sobbed, writhing until Draco was fully seated within him, the head of his cock just nudging his prostate. "Ah!"

That low cry broke what was left of Draco's control. He snapped his hips faster and harder, plumbing the depths of Harry's arse until nothing existed but the slap of flesh on flesh, scorching heat and exquisite friction. Somewhere within him, purely carnal desire mingled with a far older one. The needs of his body and the hunger in his heart coalesced into one fervent wish ‒ that he be allowed to cherish and keep Harry safe from all evil for the rest of his days. Unearthly white light crashed over Draco's being, sending him over the edge into a blinding climax. As he bonelessly collapsed onto Harry's heaving chest, warm wetness spurted against his belly, causing a ridiculous surge of pride – he'd managed to give Harry another orgasm just by fucking him ‒ the very first time, too!

As Draco slowly regained his senses, his only thought was to hopefully find out one day if Harry could accomplish the same thing. Somehow, he was certain he would.

Overhead, thunder crashed and a bolt of lightning arced from the sky towards the nemeton. It hit their wards in a furious display of sound and pyrotechnic energies.

The Circle, crafted, cast and fuelled by perfect love and perfect trust, held.

As Harry and Draco fell asleep in each other's arms, exhausted by the long day and working the ritual, cleansing rain began to fall. A brisk breeze chased away the clouds and the waning crescent moon rose above the trees, bathing the sacred circle in pale light.

 

**:l:l:**

At Castle Ewan, the bronze eight-spoked wheel started to spin wildly on its pedestal. Alarmed, the leader called back his coven, but before they could link arms again and invoke whatever protection they might think of, the darkness they'd summoned hurled back into the room, enveloped the artefact and it exploded into thousands of fragments.

The wheel's hub buried itself in the leader's chest, killing him instantly. Other burning bits of metal careened around the room, indiscriminately homing in on any living target they could find. Not one man escaped the Thunderer's retribution for having been thwarted. He would not heed another summons.

At daybreak, only bodies maimed beyond recognition remained. In time, they would bring growth and renewal to the Fairy Glen.

Light had banished Darkness. Life had conquered Death. It was Beltane.

 

**Finite Incantatem.**

**Author's Note:**

>  **Final Notes:** Doing the research for this story was like being chained to [TV Tropes](http://tvtropes.org/) ‒ equal amounts of fun and frustration because every piece of info always led to _one more thing_ that I simply _had_ to look up, too. Well, at least I learned a lot. :P 
> 
> Consequently, the list of links to my sources and sundry background information got way out of hand. I'll be posting a second chapter after reveals, for those who, like me, are interested in that kind of thing.


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